


Football & Family

by Bruteaous



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Root and Shaw as wives, Team as Family, team machine fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:21:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23245438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bruteaous/pseuds/Bruteaous
Summary: Root and Shaw spend a lazy weekend with the team and their kid. This is ultimately more domestic than I can see Root and Shaw being as they are written in the show, but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head.
Relationships: Root | Samantha Groves/Sameen Shaw
Comments: 3
Kudos: 55





	Football & Family

“Son of a Bitch!” Shaw swore at the TV as the quarterback on the screen once again fumbled the ball being passed to him.

“ _Maman_!” the little girl in her lap scolded, eyes dark and burning like Shaw’s. “You know you’re not supposed to use that language with me in the room. Uncle Harold said.”

“Uncle Harold doesn’t make the rules in our home, I do.” Sameen argued petulantly.

“Yes, yes he does, _maman_. It’s his safe house and he’s the boss of you and momma,” the little girl said confidently. “So he makes most of the rules and you and momma, and Uncle John, have to follow them.”

“Half pint’s gotcha there,” Lionel chuckled and sipped his beer on the loveseat diagonal from mother and daughter. 

_Great, now I’m losing arguments to five year olds_ , Shaw scowled as her daughter turned her attention back to the TV where the Army Black Knights were barely beating the Navy Midshipmen and snuggled more securely back into Shaw’s body and the fleece blanket they shared.

Sameen Shaw never would have imagined in a million years that one day she’d be married to the woman who threatened to burn her with an iron and left her for a hit squad to kill and then proceeded to raise a child with the said dangerous psychopath and that they’d become part of a pseudo family comprised of the father of AI, a beer belly cop, a former CIA operative, a fixer, multiple lesser misfits, and two military dogs (one former and one in training).

“Kid’s smart,” John said, choosing that moment to return from the kitchen with a bottle of one of Harold’s top shelf scotches and three empty glasses. “Must take after Root.”

Shaw narrowed her eyes and scowled up at him as he set one of the glasses down on the coffee table in front of her and poured out three fingers of amber liquid as if in commiseration. Sameen took the glass the moment it was full and knocked back the alcohol burning down her throat.

“You ass.”

John just hummed in acknowledgement before downing his own scotch. 

“Language, _maman_!”

“Sorry,” both Sameen and John murmured at the same time for some reason.

“I accept your apology,” The little girl said, snuggling back into Shaw whose grumpiness seemed to dissipate as the child cuddled closer.

The electromagnetic locks on the door clicked open and Harold limped inside followed by Root, both of them carrying bags full of takeout.

“Honey, I’m home!” Root sing-songed loudly to zero attention.

No one reacted. Shaw didn’t turn around until she heard the shaking of a paper bag near her ear.

“The Beatrice Lilly from the Parks Deli Truck for one awesome Persian sociopath and another half of a Beatrice for my little Hanna-bear,” Root cooed, with a smile no one needed to see to know it was there.

“Thanks, momma.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Shaw murmured.

“Anything for my girls,” Root cooed with her usual heart eyes.

Shaw snatched the bag from Root’s grip and found it immediately snatched away from her by the girl in her arms who grabbed the full Beatrice Lily and handed it to Sameen before grabbing her own half sandwich. Both mother and daughter dug into their sandwiches with equal gusto.

“Still don’t think I’ll ever get used to watching you and mini-you eat,” Lionel said, looking a little green around the gills.

“No one’s keeping you here, Lionel,” Shaw snarked through a mouthful of pepperoncinis.

“Come on, Shaw.” John admonished as he popped a crab rangoon into his mouth from the container Harold handed him. “To be fair to Fusco, no one likes watching you eat.”

Down to half of her sandwich, Shaw used her now free hand to give John the middle finger over her daughter’s head.

“To be fair to Ms. Shaw, it is impressive how much food she can consume in a single sitting.”

Harold hobbled over to the armchair on the opposite side of the couch and plopped down. Root settled the remaining bags of takeout that hadn’t been divided between them on the coffee table and began handing out paper plates and plastic utensils.

“There isn’t anything my baby can’t do.”

Root smiled sideways at Shaw from her place seated on the floor next to the coffee table. Predictably, Shaw just rolled her eyes and finished up her sandwich.

“Feeling brave, Harold?” John asked, nodding to the carton of Kung Po Shrimp Finch was scooping out onto his plate with his chopsticks.

“If there is one place in NYC one must endeavor to experience shrimp in American-Asian cuisine it is in Chinatown, Mr. Reese,” Harold explained before biting into one of the now peeled and headless aforementioned crustaceans.

“She says there’s nothing to worry about,” Root tried to mutter reassuringly through a mouthful of noodles. “Comparatively, Red Peony has had the lowest rate of reported food poisoning in the district.”

“Joy,” Harold replied dryly, reaching for a one of the steamed pork dumplings.

Root handed Hanna a plate filled with steamed sticky rice and crabmeat and spinach dumplings. Shaw reached for the carton of chicken feet in black bean sauce and dropped one in her mouth as easily as if it were something as common as a jalapeno popper. Lionel groaned, face screwing up into disgust.

“I think I’ve lost my appetite,” he said, abandoning his order of crispy duck back on the coffee table.

“More for me,” Shaw replied without empathy, popping a crackle of duck skin into her mouth.

“I’m full,” Hanna piped up, having only eaten a couple of the dumplings and leaving all of the sticky rice wraps untouched on her plate.

Bear—who’d snuck into the living room at some point—was laying at John’s feet wagging his tail and watching all of his humans expectantly.

The kicker for the Navy Midshipmen booted a 41-yard field goal, causing Shaw to cheer loudly and John—who was staying loyal to his Army roots—to groan and cover his face with his palm for a moment as the Navy took the lead in the game.

“Who’s more badass now, John?”

“Still, the rangers, Shaw.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Shaw chuckled.

“Language, _maman_!”

“Sorry,” Shaw apologized absently, too engrossed in watching the Army’s defensive back intercept at the 20-yard line to care that everyone had just witnessed her being chastised by her own kid.

In the chaos of the moment, Root put down a paper plate with a few bites of cold salted duck for Bear. The dog’s over zealous gobbling got the attention of Harold—who couldn’t have cared less about the game going on in the foreground.

“Ms. Groves, I wish you wouldn’t encourage him,” Harold commented.

Both Bear and Root glanced over at Harold with big brown puppy dog eyes and Harold let it go, digging back into his kung pow shrimp. Suddenly, a brindle colored ball of fur with ears nearly too big for its head rambled into the living room, barreling right into Bear and licking the empty paper plate on the floor clean.

“Kali!” Hanna cheered, excitedly, throwing her hands up in the air.

Suddenly, the plate of leftover sticky rice was flipped over onto the hard wood floor for the puppy to chomp down. The puppy had been a Christmas gift to Shaw and Hanna from Root. The little Dutch shepherd usually tried to steal all of the attention in the room, but she’d been napping dead to the world for most of the morning, much to Bear’s delight. The older dog hopped up to his feet and sulked to sit over by Harold.

“If that dog gets sick, you’re cleaning it up,” Shaw warned, shifting Hanna out of her lap so she could bend over and retrieve the overturned plate.

Hanna crossed her arms over her chest as she scooted closer to John’s side of the couch.

“Hold on, Sweetie.”

Root reached over and retrieved a half of a Spinach dumpling that had somehow found its way onto the top of Shaw’s head. Instead of dropping the dumpling onto the coffee table, Root ate it, biting into it with an almost indecent groan.

“Delicious,” She finally said, licking her fingers.

Shaw shook her head, a barely imperceptible smile on her face as she sat back on the couch. John and Harold were both suddenly too hyper focused on the TV, Hanna was trying to help Kali jump onto the too big sofa cushions and hadn’t noticed the sudden tension in the room and Fusco was just looking back and forth between Root and Shaw as if he were afraid to say anything.

All and all, it was a good afternoon.


End file.
